The Icarus Complex
by They-Call-Me-Orange
Summary: Prostitution, drugs, mob wars, and bank robbing. Welcome to Toronto. AU. Palex. Jaylie.
1. Introduction 1: Dodge

_Disclaimer: _**If I owned Degrassi... you'd all know it.**

**Title: **"The Icarus Complex" - thank Olivia and my MP3 player.

**Genres: **_General, Angst._

**Rated: **'M' _'cause kiddies shouldn't read this. Full list of warnings are as follows:_

**Violence. Ho-mo-sex-u-ality. Prostitution. Drug use. Alcohol abuse. Cursing. Pornography. Verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. Probably some other shit, too. Consider yourself WARNED.**

**Writing Tools: **_Oh, c'mon, like you care..._

**Tunes:** _Corrosion of Conformity's_ "Shake Like You"_ and_ "Heaven's not Overflowing"_, Alexisonfire _"Charlie Sheen vs. Henry Rollins" _and Straylight Run's_ "Hands in the Sky (Big Shot)"

**People:** This work would not be in existence without the help and guidance of one, Dr. Sex Walrus. I owe her my eternal grattitude, blah, blah, blah, first born child, blah, meatball sub.

**Author's Note: **Really weird, guys, I know, but I think you guys will really enjoy it if you keep up with it. Right now, there are no pairings set in stone (besides Palex - but that's going to be messed with. A lot) so I'll take any requests you guys have and see about working them in. So far it's shaping up to be Jay/Ellie but that's because I couldn't think of anyone else for Jay to shack up with. Plus Mike Lobel said he'd like to see it because "that would be hot". Consider it a free-for-all. It's up to you guys.

* * *

My father was a fisherman. That's what my mom used to tell me. 

Uncle Jim tells a different story.

I wouldn't know. I never met him. But that's not important right now.

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"Everybody get down! Get the fuck down and _nobody_ gets hurt!"

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I don't measure life by how long you've lived. It's a lot more accurate to judge by how _much_ you've lived.

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Alex kept her gun leveled at the bleeding security guard on the floor. He was unmoving but it was too soon to tell if the bullet had done its work. Keen brown eyes surveyed the room of face-down civilians with calculated cruelty. Machine-like efficiency. Soldier's eyes.

Jay stepped up to the pretty blonde teller who looked as if she might pass out from fear on the spot. He clenched a handful of cotton dress-shirt and tugged her roughly forward, shoving the barrel of the pistol in the soft, quaking hollow of her throat. In his sweetest, most gentlemanly voice:

"Gimme everything you've got and I won't blow your fucking brains out."

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I'd say I've lived a lot.

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She nodded mutely, eyes wide pools of terror. Jay hopped across the counter and followed her back into the vault room, nodding once to Alex from her position across the thirty or so people splayed across dirty tile, no doubt every one of them were praying for their lives. Authorities would be arriving soon. He had to work fast.

The teller worked the impossibly large Vault open with shaking fingers. She was beginning to hiccup back infant sobs, translucent tears carving moist trails down her pretty face. He shoved the gun into the small of her back roughly. She gasped and stumbled forward. No doubt it would bruise tomorrow.

Jay didn't have the time to care.

"Get on with it," his growl was menacing enough to increase her work tenfold.

By the time the Vault was open she had begun sobbing openly. He shoved her to the side and ripped the keys from her limp grasp. Distantly, he heard sirens.

From the lobby:

"Shit, Jay. Hurry the fuck up!"

He muttered a curse and set about opening as many drawers of cash as he could.

The rest was a blur of rattling keys, scraping metal, fluttering bills, and muffled thumps as wads of cash bounced into the duffel bag slung across his frame.

"Jay, let's _go!_"

He gave up fumbling with the last drawer. Spinning on his heel, dimly wincing at the squeal of rubber-soled-boots on tile and sprinted out the back way as he heard shots being fired from the lobby.

"We're done!" he called to Alex and got a short volley of rapid gunfire in response.

There was general screaming as he took off, using the planned escape route of the back door. A few moments before he reached the exit he heard the sounds of harsh breathing and the dull _clunk _of heavy boots behind him.

He cast a brief glance over his shoulder and was greeted by a pissed looking Alex, one arm dangling limply, a Berretta clenched in loose fist, the other hand thrown over what he assumed was a wound on her bicep. Crimson fluid leaked between her fingers. Her dark eyes screamed murder. Jay ran faster.

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My name is Jay Hogart.

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He threw his body against the door marked 'EMERGENCY' with all his might. His shoulder rattled in its socket, his head connecting with the three-inch-thick metal of the door and buzzing painfully at the shock. The door swung open at a pace that seemed almost comically slow. He gave one last jerk of effort and took off down the alley; loosing his footing briefly and managing to keep himself upright by pushing off against the slimy ground with his right hand.

The wet slap of Alex's boots behind him and the sensation of brown eyes glaring holes into his back let him know that she was close. He swung a hard left and caught sight of the busted up old pickup they had rolled into town in and prayed it had enough juice to carry them back out.

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She is Alex Nunez.

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Jay crashed into the front seat, turning the keys he had left dangling from the ignition (a ballsy move, he knew, but it was paying off). He slammed the pedal all the way to the floor at almost he exact moment he felt Alex jump over the tailgate and land, mostly safe, in the truck bed.

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This is our story.

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Rubber burnt. Tires squealed. Sirens roared. Alex was shooting at something he couldn't divert his focus to look at.

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And it's time I get the fuck out of Dodge.

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And then they were gone.

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**End Notes:** If you enjoyed/were intrigued by/didn't think it sucked then please review. If you hated/ were disgusted by/ thought it was the worst piece of crap you've ever laid eyes on then _please _review. Keep me in the loop, guys. And let me know about those pairings. 

_-Orange_


	2. Introduction 2: These Fevered Times

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapter.**

**Title: "**These Fevered Times"

**Tunes: **_All "_These Fevered Times" _by Darkest Hour,_ "Borders and Shading" _by In Flames,_ "First It Giveth"_ Queens of the Stone Age,_ "Dwithering Heights"_ by eightfourseven, and "_A Place in the Sun"_ by Lit_

**People: **_DSW and everyone who reviewed._

**Author's Note: **The massive Chapter 3 is somewhere around13 pages. Which I understand is a bit much for some people. But, it's divided into 8 (I think) character-based sections. I'm wondering if I should post the thing as one gigantic hunk of fic or post each segment seperately. Updates would only be a few days apart and it would increase my chapter count, but... What do you guys think?

* * *

I guess the best place to start any story is at the beginning.

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"Hey," his voice was the scrape of a shovel against concrete. "You okay?"

She was exhausted. Her arm throbbed where a stray bullet had clipped a chunk of flesh from her bicep. She grunted and stretched her good arm out far enough to pound the side of her fist into the glass separating the truck bed from the cab. The old system they had agreed on stealing for communication without speaking. Once for yes, twice for no. Simple.

Thunk.

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Even if the beginning was a long, long time ago.

But… isn't it always?

"How bad they get ya?"

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They tell me it all started with a stock market crash. Worst in history. Money wasn't even worth the paper it was printed on. War broke out everywhere. Wars that the governments that initiated them couldn't afford. Senseless wars; thousands dead with no profit. No aim.

The bombs fell on major cities everywhere. Tokyo, Los Angeles, Berlin, Moscow, Baghdad, London, Paris…

And then Fascism was chic again.

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She sighed, a rough, pained exhalation when she realized that a response required actual _words_.

"Just a scratch, Jay. Fleshwound."

"Yeah, well, last 'scratch' you had ended up with you damn near bleedin' out in a hotel room in Skaggs."

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Really, the whole "Totalitarian" thing didn't last long. The government was too corrupt to last. A string of insider assassinations took out any single authority figure that posed a major threat. After ten years of civil war and general unrest the good people of Canada were able to take back their land.

Kind of.

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"I'm fine. Swear to God."

There was a pause. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head. She grimaced as sharp pain raced up her arm and began to inspect the wound further.

"I'll find us a place. Soon."

"But we're not…"

"We're far enough away."

She sighed, "If we want to get to-"

"We'll make it. We can catch some sleep tonight and leave in the morning and we'll still get there before the day is up."

If her arm hadn't hurt so bad, if she hadn't been so tired, if he wasn't so goddamn right she might not have said, "Fine."

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Some places weren't worth taking back.

Organized crime skyrocketed during the "Hard Years" after the crash. Syndicates and mafias and street gangs all found themselves a place to flourish. Toronto was one of those places.

There was a brief, ten week occupation of Canadian troops in the city before Ms. Liberty Van Zandt, head of the New Canadian Parliament's War Department, issued a "tactical withdrawal" of armed forces from the city. Withdrawal. Evacuation.

Retreat.

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When the truck jerked to an uncertain stop Alex's eyes flew open.

She wasn't sure exactly when she'd fallen asleep. She looked over at her arm and noted the rust colored stains that had bloomed across her sleeve and stained the grayish metal of the bed and frowned.

Jay's door screeched open and slammed shut in one continuous movement.

The fading sounds of his boots on gravel let her know that he was going to get them a room.

She managed to haul herself out of the truck bed with the intent to follow him and begin a weary march to a bed and maybe even a meal. She tucked her handgun into the waistband of her pants and pulled the back of her shirt over what peaked out.

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There are no respectable people who go to Toronto.

Well, that's not entirely fair. There are no respectable people who _leave_ Toronto. You can arrive the most pious of jackasses and you'll either leave in a body bag or… changed.

That's what the city does, really.

It changes you.

Gets in your blood and makes you _different._

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Jay walked into what was probably the front office and walked back out jangling a set of keys triumphantly. "Room A-12," he called.

Alex caught the keys he tossed her way and turned toward the building marked "A". Jay jogged back to the truck to retrieve their things.

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Toronto is at war with itself.

There is no law in the city.

No right, no wrong.

Only war. Only… _survival_.

Oh, there are definitions. There are _sides_ of the war. Rival crime families. Hatzilakos has the South. Del Rossi has the North. Any potential innocents or… civilians are caught in between. They give you a choice: pick a side or die.

Of course, there's always plan B…

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Somehow, all their nights seemed to end like this.

Watching Pay-per-view Swedish porn in an anonymous hotel room with Jay, eating something incredibly greasy and knocking back a few beers. She couldn't understand exactly what the blonde with the big tits was saying to the bearded guy, but she imagined that the dialogue in most pornos was the same no matter what language they were filmed in.

She finished off the last of her beer and leaned back into the couch, bathed in the blue-white glow of a crappy TV, sated, aching, but safe and pretended for the hundredth time that she couldn't see Jay's boner.

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There are no respectable people in Toronto.

It's why we fit in so well.

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**End Notes:** Well, the premier chapter seemed to go over great with the people who reviewed. But I don't think I'll keep this up if only five people out of the 131 hits it got liked it enough to let me know. In short: gimme more feedback, guys. If you don't I'm just going to take this thing down and e-mail the chapters to anyone who likes it enough to ask. 

_-Orange_


	3. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Marco

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: **First Installment in the "Strangers Have the Best Candy" section.

**Tunes:**_"_No One Knows" _Queens of the Stone Age, _"Confederate Fag"_ Jack of Jill,"_The Quiet Place" _In Flames, _"I Don't Mind"_ Drain S.T.H._

**People: **_The Doctor Sex Walrus. Again. And redraisin. Redraisin rocks. Go read "Elephants And Shopping Malls" and then "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" and then "Ashes" and then... y'know what? Just go read everything. Ditch this stuff, for her stuff. They're fucking Palex** staples** man. Staples. You're not a fan if you don't know redraisin._

**Author's Note: **Marco-centric. 'Cause everyone could use more Marco. Read and enjoy.

* * *

"Uhnn…" harsh breathing, the squeak of bed-springs, the soft moans, desperate grunts, the wooden _dink_ of the headboard against cracking drywall. Friction, slick heat, sweat dripping down from his hair-line, rolling down his face, dropping wetly on pale skin beneath him. He was about to burst, he was… 

"Fu…" the almost-curse was fervent and broke to pieces before it could take form in his mouth. Marco removed himself from Tim; who was lay a limp tangle of limbs on the bed, already spent. He stood on trembling legs and felt sick, forcing himself not to look at the naked man on the bed he set about disposing of their used condom.

He heard Tim shift on the bed behind him. "Marco?"

Marco sighed, tossed the condom into the wastebasket and leaned heavily on the dresser adjacent to it. He breathed in heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose, and glared holes into the generic motel furniture. After a moment of collecting himself he turned around and began to gather his clothes.

"Marco?"

He turned and finally looked at Tim as he slipped his boxers back on. The younger man sat modestly, the sheet drawn up to his waist, looking small and vulnerable. No matter how hard he tried Marco couldn't force himself to meet the other man's gaze. He pulled his jeans up and fastened them silently, reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing his wallet.

"Two-seventy-five, right?"

"Wh-what? No, Marco, you know it's only-"

Marco tossed a wad of bills on the dresser. He knew by this point that he could never buy the guilt away, but Tim really was a nice kid and he deserved more than what Jesse allowed him.

"Consider it a tip," he tried his best to smile but it came out more pleading than reassuring.

Tim rose from the bed tentatively, sheet drawn around him, looking younger than ever. He padded toward the half-clothed man silently and with his free hand took hold of Marco's wrist. Tim pressed a shaky kiss to the side of his mouth. Marco turned his head, unable to hold eye contact. "What's wrong?" the words were breathy, nervous.

Marco drew in a wavering breath and gently pushed the other man away from him, "Nothing, Tim."

There was a pause, "W… was it not, not good?"

Marco ran a distressed hand through his hair before drawing Tim into his arms and placing a half-hearted kiss to his temple. "No, no, it was fine. It was good, Tim."

"Did I do something to make you mad? W-"

"No. No, Tim, you haven't done anything. You've been great," Marco tried to rid his mind of blonde hair and broad shoulders. It hurt, to think of Dylan after he had just… after he…

"I need to go, Tim."

He saw the fear in the younger man's eyes and swallowed painfully. He honestly didn't know why he came here, time and time again. He knew Tim had feelings for him that went beyond their "working relationship." Knew that he always felt like he was betraying Dylan's memory. Knew it was hurting Tim, who he genuinely liked, and himself. Knew he hated himself more and more every time he walked away from the nondescript hotel.

But, for the life of him, he couldn't seem to stop.

"I… Marco, I-"

"Bye, Tim."

"Will you be back?"

Marco sighed, felt heavy, felt sick, felt… too much. He wanted to be numb. He didn't want this anymore.

"Yeah."

"By-"

The door slammed.

* * *

**End Notes: **Well, review count is picking up. Keep it comin' folks. 

_-Orange_


	4. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Paige

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: **Second Installment in the **"**Strangers Have the Best Candy" series of chapters.

**Tunes: **_The Vincent Black Shadow_ "Metro" "Miss World"_ by Hole, Alexisonfire_ "You Burn First"_, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts_ "Five" "Stapled to the Mattress"_ and_ "Make You Believe" _by Scarling ._

**People: **_No one as of yet._

**Author's Note: **Couldn't think of a name for Paige's... establishment. I meant to ask what you guys thought about it, but I forgot. I know it kind of makes me an asshole, but... Meh. You guys love me enough to deal with it, right?

Here's the deal with updating. As soon as I reach eight reviews for this chapter, I will post another one. So on, so forth. Blah, blah, blah. Get it?

* * *

"And, _this_ is the 'Cheer Room'," she looked faintly disgusted but continued. "You-" 

"'Cheer Room'?"

If looks could kill the trembling brunette would have been a pretty, but undeniably limp, corpse. Paige ground her teeth slightly, and spoke in her sweetest voice, "Janet, right?"

The girl nodded tentatively.

"Janet… Look, hon, _you_ came to _me_ looking for a job, didn't you?"

Another.

"Good. Now, you tell _me_ how you can possibly handle what _I'm_ offering you, if you can't keep your slutty, pink little mouth shut long enough for me to explain to you just what the _fuck_ you'll be doing."

"I-I…"

"You'll shut the fuck up is what _you'll_ do," punctuated by an innocent bat of her eyelashes.

"I-"

"No. No more talking. You're not allowed to talk. You're allowed to smile at the customers, nod when you agree, shake your head when you don't, kick them in the balls if they get out of line, and maybe, _maybe_ ask for a bit extra after you wrap up."

She opened her mouth again but promptly shut it after Paige took a step closer.

"If you understand, tell me so."

She looked uncertain and said nothing, eyes downcast.

"This is one of the few times I will ever allow you the _privilege_ of speaking to me. Now, do you understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes-what?"

"Yes… ma'am."

Paige glared.

"M-madame. Yes, Madame."

Paige nodded, "Better."

She tapped her fingers against her chin and smoothed the hair back from the girl's face; letting her hand linger on the girl's cheek. She spoke again, in that saccharine voice that still managed to come off as a death-threat, "Now, go dress-down, hon. You start today."

The girl's eyes got wide and she opened her mouth to protest when Paige began to drag her fingernails lightly across the pale skin of her cheek. The girl fell silent, turned and slumped out the door.

Paige smiled until the room was empty and sank heavily into one of the padded chairs by the door.

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed deeply. The bell in the main room rang; the falsely cheery sound one she was too familiar with. Paige closed her eyes, timed deep breaths counting to ten and rose, slowly striding into the room.

"Hello, gentlemen, welcome to _Spirit's_. I'm assuming you know the standard fees…"

**

* * *

**

**End Notes:** I'll reiterate: Sooner I get to eight reviews, sooner next chapter is up.

_-Orange_


	5. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Peter

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: "**Strangers Have the Best Candy" - part_ tres_

**Tunes: **_Fifty Fifty "_The Getaway_" - I'm gonna take a minute to pimp Fifty Fifty. They were a really cool but sadly, always local skatepunk band based out of Seattle, Washington. Much of the music was released on the Seattle record label sk8core. Much of their music can be listened to on their official (but defunct) website: fiftyfiftymusic DOT net. Discography, folks. Other music that went into the writing of this chapter is as follows:_ "All Over It!" _By Divine Right,_ "M.O.R." _Blur_, "Slaughter of Bruce" _the Gits._

**People: **_unleashmysoul - quick on the uptake, kiddos. She's fast. Like a... ostrich. Only less scary. This one's for you. Just like I promised._

**Author's Note: **I know this one's short. And Peter doesn't really have a major stake in the plot. But this had to be written. It had to. I sincerely hope you all enjoy the chapter and character we've so affectionately dubbed "Porno Pete"

**WARNINGS:** This chapter contains sexual themes, adult situations, profane language, and general bad stuff. Don't read if you're not mature enough. This baby's got an **M **rating for a reason, folks.

* * *

"No, no! _Cut_!" Peter ran a frustrated hand through his hair and spat off to the side. He jumped up from his chair and stalked onto the shoot, grabbing the barely clothed girl by a fistful of chestnut hair and pulled her roughly backwards. " Darcy! Come-the-fuck-_on_. You don't use _teeth!_ Jesus, fucking fluffers, gonna be the death of me…" 

"Mr. Stone, I-"

He sighed, tiredly, "Shut up, Slut."

She looked too nervous to be offended.

"I go _out of my way_, to give you a shot. Get some actual _camera-time _in. And you still fuck things up. Christ, Darce, it's only a blow-job. You do this shit in the dressing rooms for a living. It's not like I asked for a big lesbian orgy, or… or fucking double anal. It's a _blow job_!"

He drew his hand back but managed to stop himself before he did anything rash. She looked absolutely terrified, almost to the point of tears. A small spike of arousal raced through him but he pushed it down. "Amy, get your ass over here. Show 'er how it's _done._"

Amy raced over, shrugging off her shirt in the process and kneeled expertly between Craig's legs. The dark-haired man eyed her warily before tentatively lowering his hands from where they cupped his livelihood. As Amy set about her work Darcy moved to get up but Peter's hand shot out and latched onto her arm. "Watch," he growled as he jerked her back into position. He placed both hands on the back of her head and brought her face closer. "Watch, and _learn_ and maybe, if you stop being such a fucking basket-case, and you work real _hard_," he punctuated the last word by thrusting his hips slightly forward and pressing the tip of his half flaccid penis into her back, "maybe, then I'll give you another shot."

He made sure Darcy watched. When Craig's head flew back and he came he made sure Darcy got a good look at how Amy swallowed everything promptly with no dribbling. He released her, told her to sit out for the day, told Amy to stand in for the rest of the shoot.

"We're going to get this fucking thing done, people. We're going to get this scene wrapped up _today_ if it _kills_ you," he ran a hand over his eyes and eyed Darcy where she sat sullen off to the side. "Okay! From the top…"

* * *

**End Notes:** Same rules as before. Next up? Spinner! 

_-Orange_


	6. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Spinner

_Disclaimer:_ **See Previous Chapters.**

**Tunes:** _White Zombie_ "Thunder Kiss '65", "Heretics & Killers" _Protest the Hero, "_Girl With the Broken Heart (By the Way)" _American Eyes, and, from Shane Kippel's own playlist "_Not the Sun" _and_ "Luca"_ by Brand New (from The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me - great album)_

**People: **_Everyone who left a review. Much appreciated, folks._

**Author's Note:** Originally going to be more... sinister. But Doctor Sex Walrus and Spinner-love stopped me from totally crippling our dear Gavin emotionally. This story isn't doing so great on the Hits front. What do you guys think of the summary? 'Cause, honestly, I suck at them and I just slapped up whatever didn't sound too retarded when I was posting this. Should I change it in anyway? Would advertising pairings help or hurt what I've got so far?

* * *

"Spare some change?" 

"Go fuck yourself."

He winced.

"Hey… g-got any change, man?"

"Get a job, ya fuckin' dead-beat."

"Hey, man I-"

"You're a worthless fucking shit. Goddamn slob. _I_ work for _my _money ya motherfuckin' bum."

"Listen, ma-"

"No._ You_ listen. I'm tired of all you goddamn charity cases expecting the _working_ _man_ to give you fucking hand-outs. I oughta kick your ass you motherless little shit."

The man stepped closer, "I _will_ kick your ass."

Spinner turned his head to the side slightly, shame rising bright red on his face, "Look, I didn't come out today looking for a fight…"

"Well ya found one, you fucking pansy."

"I don't think you want t-"

The man popped him in the jaw with a hard right before he could finish his sentence. Spinner flew backwards, hand coming up to his face instinctively. "Hey, man! What the h-"

The man grabbed him by the lapel of his ragged nylon overcoat and swung him into a brick wall. The back of his head bounced off the hard surface. There was ringing in his ears.

"I'll fucking-"

Spinner lunged forward and tackled the man to the ground. His head throbbed, his vision was kind of blurry, and he hadn't eaten anything in over a day but he could still fight. He could always fight. He brought his fists down in rapid succession one after another, digging his knees into the writhing man's ribs to hold him steady, blood and saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he swore and spat things he didn't even understand.

"You fuckin'… I'll… goddamn bastard… son of a whore…"

Slowly the man stopped struggling. The arms that had been attempting to defend his face drooped down to his sides, his eyes slid closed. Spinner landed a strong left jab to his throat and the man made a strange gurgling noise.

He stopped, breathing raggedly, and rolled off the man.

"Fuck," it was a breathless whisper between pants. He scooted away, until his back was pressed against the wall, dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and tried to choke back sobs. He was shivering, mucus dripping from his nose, eyes watering, chest heaving. He lowered his hands, saw them sticky and bright with blood, knew it had smeared across his face.

"Oh… oh, God. Oh _fuck_."

Spinner raced forward on his hands and knees and pressed two bloodied fingers against the man's pulse-point. He held his breath…

"Jesus… oh my God…" he sighed with relief. The man was alive. No doubt, he had looked as if he tripped and fell into a meat-grinder but at least he hadn't _killed_ the bastard.

Spinner sighed again and rose, wearily, to his feet. He began to brush the dirt from his pants but stopped when they began to splotch a rusty shade of crimson. He grimaced. A sharp pain exploded on the back of his head and he brought a hand up to inspect his injuries. His hair was matted and sticky and he hissed as his fingers brushed the wound. "Goddamn… okay, _ow_. Fuck."

He pulled his hand back, fresh blood bright and caustic against the brownish stains on his fingers. He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. From another end of the alley he heard a whore trying to talk a guy into paying for it. Spinner sighed, his stomached ached, his legs were weak, and his head _hurt_. His gaze drifted to the unconscious man on the ground.

His stomach growled.

Spinner sighed. "I _could_…"

He knelt down quickly, patted down the unconscious body, retrieved the wallet from the front pocket of the man's pants, and withdrew the little cash there without preamble. He sighed, humiliation clawing its way up his chest. His lungs burned with it. He shook his head and stuffed the small wad of bills into his coat and hesitated. With one last shuddering breath he jumped to his feet and shuffled out of the ally as quickly as he could.

After a quick glance around he counted the money. Almost a hundred and fifteen dollars. It would buy hot meals for a week and drinks as long as he could make it last…

Spinner swallowed thickly and began to trudge toward the bar.

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**End Notes: **Same rules, 'cept, this time, if I get ten, count 'em, ten, I'll double-post. Thanks for reading, guys. 

_-Orange_


	7. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Jimmy

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: "**Strangers Have the Best Candy" part five.

**Tunes: **_Alexisonfire "_Accidents"_ and_ "Keep It On Wax"_, Drain S.T.H._ "Someone",_ Unearth "_Zombie Autopilot_", The Offspring_ "Take It Like A Man"_, Glassjaw_ "The Gillette Cavalcade Of Sports"

**People: **_You know who, by now._

**Author's Note: **Well, I got my 10+ reviews in the three day time limit. So here's my double post. I should have had this up last night, but the soon-to-be-written Crack!Fic I'm working on with Dr. Sex Walrus is taking over my mind. For this and other reasons, readers of "Sepia" and the newly created "Confidential" might have to be a bit patient with me.

* * *

Machine gun. 

Rat-tat-tat.

Blam. Blam.

Running.

Pain. White hot.

Falling.

Blood.

Screams.

Rat-tat-tat.

Blam.

Jimmy, are you okay? Jimmy. Jimmy.

Getting dark, getting-

Rat-tat-tat.

Dark. Get-

Blam

-ting dark.

Rat-tat.

Jimmy.

Blam. Blam. Blam. Blam.

Jimmy. Jimmy.

Rat-

Dark.

-tat-

Can't taste… Can't feel

-tat.

Blam.

Jimmy.

Blam.

"Jimmy!"

His eyes, shot open, hand flying out blindly; knocking bottles of pills (they rattled as they crashed to the floor - plastic _dink_-ing on the concrete), upsetting a glass of warm water, pushing a pack of cigarettes and a cell phone off the nightstand.

"Whoa, Jim. Calm down, man."

There was a hand on his shoulder, trying to settle him back against the pillows. He grabbed it and flung it off him. It was dark and hard to see, his brain muddled with sleep, he slurred out, "Don't touch me. Just… don't."

"Hey, easy, man. I'm sorry."

Jimmy blinked drowsily, trying to get his sight back. It wouldn't come. He reached a hand up to his face, running his fingers over the familiar curves and dips, "What the fuck…?"

"Here, man." Hands guiding something onto his face. He blinked and could see. Glasses. He breathed out, trying to calm his racing heart. He wore glasses, now. "You okay, Jim?"

He sat up and tried to swing his legs over the bed. They wouldn't work. "JT?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

His heart pounded furiously, sweat dripped down from his hairline, his hands clenched and unclenched rapidly by his sides. His legs were numb. He forced his breathing to appear normal, even though inside he was certain his world was about to splinter into a million pieces.

"Jim?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, JT. I, uh, I just…"

Blam.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I…"

JT reached out a hand but drew it back when he recalled Jimmy's earlier words. "Did it…" he swallowed, "did it happen again?"

Jimmy nodded silently, leaning back into the pillows once more, running a hand over his face, "Yeah. Yeah."

JT's mouth went into a half-smile half-frown. He knelt down, picking up the pill bottles, and began to dole out Jimmy's prescription, "Uh… Sean called today. Said he talked to Toby, who said that there are reports of a big robbery in Acton. Two suspects, one male, one female, semi-automatic handguns, one rifle, killed a guard and two police officers, stole over 150,000 dollars…"

Jimmy smiled despite himself and took the handful of pills JT offered him. He swallowed them dry and drank what was left of his water to ease the soreness in his throat.

"…east. Sound like anyone we know?"

JT walked out of the room. When he returned he was pushing a wheel-chair.

"Tobes say when they should be in?"

"Nah…" JT grunted as he slipped his hands under Jimmy's arms and began to ease him over the side of the bed and into the chair, "no word from 'em yet. But, you know how they are… Give 'em a day. Maybe two."

Jimmy nodded and sank into the chair. He hated it. Hated it more than he could ever explain. He pushed back the animosity and accepted the fingerless gloves JT offered him. He strapped them on and gripped the familiar handrim.

"Well, I guess we better get started, huh?"

JT smiled sadly, "Guess, so."

He walked out the door. Jimmy clenched his jaw, tightly and wheeled himself after him.

* * *

**End Notes:** See next chapter. 

_-Orange_


	8. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Sean

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: "**Strangers Have the Best Candy" part 6

**Tunes: **_Scarling. _"Cripsin Glover"_, Refused "_The Shape of Punk To Come"_, Fenix TX_ "Threesome"_, The Gits_ "Here's To Your Fuck" _Corrosion Of Conformity_ "Seven Days"_, Lit_ "Miserable"

**People: **_Yes..._

**Author's Note: **Parts of this chapter were largely inspired by... my own fucking crazy ideas. But re-watching "classic" episodes like "Jagged Little Pill" I am once again astounded by my own genius-osity. Mmm, that's good ego. But seriously, I adored the Sean/Jimmy tension of the early seasons and... y'know that's pretty much all I had to say. Thanks for reading.

* * *

Sean sighed deeply and began his nightly ritual of wiping down the same filthy counters with the same filthy rag. He supposed, had he been a more methodical man he might've taken comfort in the familiarity of routine. But Sean Cameron was a man who lived for excitement. He pushed the envelope, lived on the razor's edge, danced in minefields. Most of the time. 

At that moment Sean Cameron was the painfully dull bartender and owner of _Cameron's_ on the unspoken divide between North and South Toronto. Sean Cameron who once had to break a pool cue over a drunk patron's head. Sean Cameron who, on some weekends, talked Ashley Kerwin down from her fancy-ass job at the Empire Hotel to sing a few tunes at his hole-in-the-wall bar because they were old friends and his business was all he had anymore. Sean Cameron who wiped down the same filthy counters with the same filthy rags night after night after night.

But on nights when he closed the bar early, looking tired and fed-up; after he locked all the doors and turned off the flickering neon sign that hung behind metal bars that kept their iron vigil over the dirty glass windows of the bar when everyone had gone home; after he swept the peanut shells off the floor and ran a damp cloth over the grimy surfaces of his jukeboxes and seats; after all this he became someone else. Maybe, an hour, sometimes less, after he closed the bar formally they would arrive.

Usually Jimmy and JT, first. Then slowly they would filter in. Craig, Paige and Hazel, Marco, Ash, Toby if he was in town, Ellie if she could make it, Emma and Manny came on occasion, and Spinner… used to. No one had seen much of Spinner since…

Well, they didn't talk about that.

He wasn't exactly sure how it evolved. The now commonplace routine of gathering at the bar. But that's how they spent many of their weeknights, now. Weekends, too, every few weeks. They arrived, they made tense conversation, they gave up formalities and planned. Every time Toby arrived he would bring cash, funding from the New Canadian Parliament's Head of the War Department, Ms. Liberty Van Zandt herself. Toby's childhood friend, JT's old flame, Danny Van Zandt's straight-and-narrow sister. She had been the one to really solidify the group. They even had a name in Government files. Project Icarus.

Sean was aware of the plans. Everyone was, she at least had the decency to let them know when the government planned to use them to fight their wars. It was all so very "Bay of Pigs". The armed forces deployed by the government three years ago had been outgunned, out maneuvered, and out witted by Hatzilakos and Del Rossi forces who had stopped slitting one another's throats long enough to run the Government out of their town.

It was a simple, unoriginal idea. Give the group of city-born terrorists funding, under the table, supply them with weapons and resources and allow them to attempt and break the city in two from the inside. It was a secret project, meaning no public outrage at war within their own country. It saved money because there were less "troops" that needed financing. And they didn't have to worry about losing men. They weren't Canadian soldiers with families and influence. They were scum-of-the-earth, crass motherfuckers that could be thrown away. If the three groups, Del Rossi, Hatzilakos, and Rebel managed to kill each other off in five, ten years, so be it. All that the government would need to do would be to clean up the mess. Simple. Efficient. Most importantly, secret. Even if it got a little messy.

Liberty had spared them political and formal bullshit and laid out the facts. It's what she was good at. Toby would be their in-between-man, running from the small government base in Mississauga. He would oversee shipments of weaponry in large trucks marked with the names of various Alcohol suppliers to Sean's bar, he would deliver much of the money and information personally, he would relay information and keep things clear and unmuddled as possible.

Marco was the inside man. Sean the base of operations. Ash the fly on the wall. Jimmy the head of the operation. Everyone else had their roles and purposes; each had their reasons. He was startled out of his reverie by a series of three harsh, quick knocks on his backdoor. He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall over the jukebox. 1:12 at night. _Who the fuck…? _He wracked his brain,

Three more knocks.

Sean furrowed his brows and stalked behind the bar. He reached underneath and felt until he came into contact with a familiar cold metal surface. He withdrew the sleek handgun and hesitated.

He slid the handgun back into its spot and knelt down withdrawing a double-barreled shotgun. "Okay, fucker," he breathed, 'let's do this."

Knock.

He trotted silently to the door.

Knock.

The heavy metal door gave no indication of who might lurk on the other side.

He leveled the gun at what was average chest level and called out in his fiercest, pissed-bartender voice, "Who the fuck is it?"

He heard muffled, tinkling laughter through the cold steel of the door. The sound of glasses clinking and bells ringing. "Jesus, Sean, it's just me."

He sighed, confusion draping across his features. Setting the gun aside he opened the door, "Ash?"

Her reply was a swift forceful kiss. Her hands running across his torso and around his shoulders, one hand threading itself through his hair. She kicked the door shut and withdrew the hand from his head to fumble with the locks until the door was secure. She shoved him back against the wall and he winced as a picture frame jabbed into his shoulder blade.

He pulled back, "Ash-"

She pressed another kiss to his mouth, pulled back, "Shut up," again, "and," harder this time, almost ferocious, "kiss me," lips on his neck, soft hands pressing against his crotch through his pants, "Cameron."

He grabbed her probing hands and forced her back until their was space between their bodies again. "Ashley," he panted, "what the _hell_?"

She sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair, "Don't play stupid, Sean." Reached for him again only to find him pulling back. At least this time he looked more reluctant.

"We… can't. We can't do this anymore. We agreed on this. We-"

"Sean…" a delicate finger trailing across his jaw line.

"Jimmy-"

Her eyes darkened, "Forget about Jimmy."

"But-"

"Jesus!" she threw her hands in the air, "Since when is he your best friend, Sean?"

He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face, trying desperately to collect his scattered thoughts. His conscience battling with his urges, "He's not, but… You and him-"

"There _is_ no Jimmy and I anymore."

He leveled a flat gaze at her, "So you broke it off with him?"

Her hesitation was enough answer.

"You're still together. I can't do this to him anymore, Ash. I can't hurt him like that-"

"Oh, cut the fucking shit. It's not like you cared about 'hurting him' the other times."

He breathed out harshly, "That was different."

"How? _How_ the fuck was it different, Sean? Explain that to me."

"It…"

She walked closer, slid her leg between his thighs. "Do you want me?" her mouth was so close to his ear it brushed the lobe as she spoke. A moist pink tongue darted out to the sensitive spot behind his jaw. He stood silent, stock still, unmoving. "Do you want me, Sean?"

His breath was ragged. His pupils dilated. He couldn't keep his hands at his sides, they rose up, brushed her ribs, underneath her shirt. Soft, tan skin. A hot mouth attached to his neck. "Sean?"

"Yes," the reply was ragged. A whispered sin.

He felt her smile against the curve of his neck.

"But Jimmy-"

"Don't talk about him," her voice was low, but light. Except for the sharp edge underneath, "Don't talk about Jimmy."

"He-"

"He doesn't care about me, Sean. He doesn't care anymore."

"I-"

"Sean, just…"

He breathed a sad, shuddering sigh, "This is the last time."

But it wasn't the first time he'd said it. She took his hand and led him up the familiar stairs, to the familiar room, with the familiar bed. When he took off his shirt and lay her down no words passed between them. When she fumbled with his belt and he brushed thick fingers across her breasts not a word was uttered. The only sounds that night were ragged breathing, quiet sobs, distant gunshots, and the squeak of bedsprings.

* * *

**End Notes: **Nine 'till I update, folks. Better get started... 

Please?

_-Orange_


	9. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Ellie

**Title: "**Strangers Have the Best Candy" part VII

**Tunes: **_The Birthday Massacre _"Blue"_ and_ "Lovers End", _Drain S.T.H. _"(So I Will Burn) Alone"_, Hole _"Asking for It"_, In This Moment_ "Daddy's Falling Angel"_ and_ "Prayers"

**People: **_I can't really remember. I probably had someone in mind but right now I forget. So, this one goes out to anyone who's bothering to read this._

**Author's Note: **Well, this should have been up yesterday. All I can say is... Crack!Fic. Only, that's a lie. So, really, all I can say and be truthful about is... Laziness! Somehow that doesn't sound as good. Read and enjoy.

ALSO: Check out **Dr. Sex Walrus' **brand-spankin'-new fic: _Blood Red Summer._ If you review and let me know about it (rest assured I will check) you get to submit an idea to me, be it oneshot premise or something you'd like to see in any of my fics, and I'll pick one. Even if it's something that would totally crush my soul to write. Like a Degrassi/Happy Days crossover featuring Marco/The Fonz action. shudder

* * *

"Mmm… that was great, honey." 

A sloppy, wet kiss pressed against her neck. Damp, prickly stubble brushing harshly against tender skin. Big, clumsy, hands still pawing at her naked body under the sheets. Ellie forced down a wave of nausea and stopped herself from shivering. The man she lay with was no one special. The picture of anonymity. Average height, not especially ugly, not considerably attractive, unremarkable features. Five o'clock shadow that looked more 'sloppy' than 'rugged'. Muddy brown eyes, faint scar on his side. He wore sunglasses.

He continued to murmur into her shoulder and she found she couldn't muster up enough emotion to really dislike him. He just seemed like one of the legions of lonely men in this city. Men who wanted companionship, men who actually _wanted _someone to hold, men who needed someone to listen to them and pay attention; even if only for an hour or two. Just a lonely man interested in a good fuck and feeling important.

Of course, the best service for men like these was at Paige's joint but judging by the working-class level of haggardness the man carried with him she doubted he could afford a woman at _Spirit's_. He'd told her his name, but she had forgotten it, mostly. It started with a "G". Grant, Gabe, Gary, Gill…

Fumbling fingers circled the nipple of her right breast, "You're so beautiful…"

Ellie closed her eyes and released a breath that was caught in the infinite space between forlorn sigh and tired exhalation. She gently began to untangle herself from the man's desperate clutch. Slapping a false smile on she sat up and half-turned to him. "Thanks, sweetie, but," she hated this part. The shame, the self-loathing, the pathetic sound of her own voice; the fear. You never knew when some crazy fuck would blow up and decide to 'purify' the earth and kill his whore. "A girl's gotta make rent."

Which wasn't entirely true since she lived with Jesse and the others.

The man smiled, but it wasn't a real smile. The edges were too sharp and he showed too many teeth, "Sure thing, sweetheart."

But the illusion was over and there was no warmth left in his gaze or his words. He swung his feet over the bed and began to gather his clothing. Ellie forced herself to slip into her pants and throw her shirt over her head for the sake of modesty, only. She stared blankly at a fist sized hole in the wall until she heard him clear his throat. When she turned around he'd slipped sunglasses back on and was holding out a small cluster of bills in her general direction. He refused to make eye contact. Ellie silently accepted her payment and the man nodded once, gave another false, too-wide smile and walked out of the room; her life.

Ellie counted the money quickly only because she knew Jesse would be pissed if she didn't bring in what he expected of her. It was enough. An extra five had been tucked into the small bundle. Mathematical error, appreciation, lapse of judgment, or burst of pity she couldn't tell. Didn't want to.

Ellie rose silently, letting the clothing fall from her skin for the firstsecondthirdfourthfifthsixth time that day and walked into the small, dirty bathroom adjoining the room. This was the easy part. She moved mechanically, thoughtlessly, the routine burned into her brain. It had happened in many different bathrooms, on many different occasions. But every shitty motel bathroom was the same. Every time this happened not a damn thing changed. There was never anyone. Just Ellie and her crutch.

She'd already been in the room once before, after GrantGabeGaryGill got the room she'd slipped into the bathroom to "freshen up". She stepped into the show stall, sank to the corner, flicked the faucet and let the water fall over her. It was hot. It burned. Burned everything. Pale skin turning rose-pink from scalding rain. She didn't bother with soap. It never did any good. Only one thing made her clean again.

She picked the small leather case up off the tiled floor beside the shower stall and swung the curtain shut again. Withdrawing her tools, Ellie set about her work. The first cut always hurt more than the rest, she'd learned that numbness came with time. Vermillion rivers carved pathways down her arms and dripped down to the drain, turned the clear water as pink as her skin.

* * *

**End Notes:** I know. By now you're thinking "that's a lotta prostitutes!" Well... you're right. But, don't say I didn't warn you. It's in the freakin' summary! I was a bit worried about addressing Ellie's issues with self harm. Wasn't sure if I wanted to do that. It's a serious topic and I do my best not to take on an issue this heavy, this multifaceted if I don't have what I consider an adequate understanding of it. All my experience with cutting and the various forms or self harm are... third person. A bit of research and talking with people who have experienced it. I hope that I didn't downplay it. What I do with "Sepia" I feel marginally comfortable with because I feel I understand those issues. But here I'm a bit less... experienced. What did you guys think? 

REVIEW! You've only got one (maybe) more chapter in the "Strangers Have the Best Candy" series (probably) so get it out of the way right quick with ten reviews.

_-Orange_


	10. Strangers Have the Best Candy: Snake

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: **Last of the "Strangers Have the Best Candy" series. At least for a little while.

**Tunes: **_Hopesfall's new CD_ "Magnetic North" - _amazing. Really great stuff. Awesome for writing._

**People: **_The ever-awesome Doctor Evil. Not to be confused with the also ever-awesome Dr. Sex Walrus. They both rock. I'd never get anything done without 'em._

**Author's Note: **I'm very aware of the quality of the next two chapters. I hope it's nothing you'll hold against me. They're shit, but I'm too lazy/wiped out for a re-write so you'll just have to deal. They get better, though, which is why I'm posting my sub-par stuff together. Just to get 'em out of the way. For an explanation of my absence see the newly added chapter of Sepia.

* * *

Archie "Snake" Simpson sighed tiredly and brushed sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He stepped back, squinting at the harsh glare of the single, swinging blub that hung from the ceiling. He rubbed his sore knuckles as Perino took over for him. He turned around, running a hand over what was left of his hair and shrugged off his suit-coat. 

Perino grunted. "You like that, you little shit?" The meaty sound of fists a striking cotton clothed body. He heard the man in the chair grunt and wheeze. _Huh… must've knocked the air out of him._ Again. A muffled cry. Again. Snort of pain. Again. The man was choking pathetically. Quickly realizing things could go bad very quickly Snake turned around, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He placed a firm hand on Perino's shoulder.

The dark haired man, whirled around, one arm half cocked back to deliver another blow. Snake leveled him with a blank stare. Perino could hit him. Perino could beat the shit out of him. But it would be the last thing that goddamn hothead did. Perino knew this, too. Quite well, in fact. He lowered his fist and stepped back a few paces to allow Snake to resume his interrogation.

Snake loosened his tie and dropped down to eyelevel with the man in the chair. Gently, almost tenderly, he took the limp man's head in his hands. It lolled side to side, sickly. His eyes were empty. His chest was the sunken canyon of a Junkie. Unkempt, short, wiry beard; dark rings around his eyes; scars and small sores on his face from where he'd picked at it restlessly in between fixes; snot and blood running out of his nose in one thick discolored liquid. Snake drew a handkerchief from his pocked and wiped the mucus-y substance from the young man's face.

"Tracker," he sighed the name. Sounding weary and concerned. It was a voice you wanted to trust, "Scotty… Jesus, kid. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it turned out this way. Really," the handkerchief continued delicately dabbing sweat and blood from the spots it collected on Tracker's face. "And I want this over as much as you do. Tracker, all you gotta do is tell us what you know. I'll pull some strings for you. Sully will forget about everything you owe him. Just talk to me, Scott."

The young man's only response was ragged breathing. Snake sighed and slipped his kerchief back into his pocket, "I'm sorry, Mr. Cameron."

He drew back, slipping a gun out of its holster, and slamming the butt of the pistol into Tracker's jaw in one fluid motion. There was a sickening crack and a shrill shriek as the bound man's head flew violently to the side. Blood, saliva, and fragments of tooth dripped from his mouth onto the floor. Agony, white hot and flaring, raged against his closed eyelids. He clenched his jaw unconsciously, only for it to drop lax once more as he screamed in pain. Tears leaked from his eyes.

Snake dropped back into his crouch and forced the Tracker to look into his eyes once more, "C'mon, kid. Don't make me do it again. This is the last time I'm going to ask you, Tracker. _Please _don't make me let Perino take over," over his shoulder Perino waved his fingers twistedly. Tracker shivered but remained silent.

Snake looked distressed, "Okay, P-"

"No."

Snake looked back at the bleeding man hopefully. "What was that, Mr. Cameron?"

He let out a shuddering breath and spit out a mucus-y substance, yellowish with red streaks of blood, punctuated by fragmented tooth. "I… I'll talk, Snake."

The middle-aged man grinned. "Atta boy," he clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring his wince and hiss. "Told you he'd come around, 'Rino."

The man grunted noncommittally and shrugged.

Snake reached into the pocket of the coat he'd hung over the back of a chair and withdrew a tape-recorder. Setting it on the table he turned it on.

"Now, son, I want you to tell me everything you know about our… little problem."

He sighed and glanced around nervously, "It all started with this Del Rossi guy. They call him Towerz…"

* * *

**End Notes: **See next chapter. 

_-Orange_


	11. Cubic Zirconias Are Forever

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: **"Cubic Zirconias Are Forever" - from track 3 of Hopesfall's _Magnetic North_

**Tunes: **_Same as before. Only this time, there's Willie Nelson. _

**People: **_Same wonderful folks as before._

**Author's Note: **Nothing I can think of to say that I haven't said already. I'll probably kick myself when I remember something later but, whatever... I apologize in advance for the crap you're about to read.

* * *

Jay sang, knowing it pissed Alex off. Taking obscure pleasure in the way she gritted her teeth and made fists out of empty hands. 

"The life I love is makin' music with my friends…"

She closed her eyes and began mumbling to herself. Probably vows of vengeance or something like that. He sang louder.

"Oh, I just can't wait to get on the road again!"

"Ja-"

"On the road again! Goin' places that I've never been!"

"Jay Hogart, I swea-"

"Seein' things that I may never see again!"

"Damn straight you might never see them Corpses can't fucking s-"

"And I can't wa-"

She slammed the heel of her boot into the dying radio embedded in the ancient dashboard of the truck. The music faded out with a pathetic whine.

"Hey!"

Alex drew her legs back up to her chest. "You had it comin'"

Jay sighed, "Dammit, Alex, now what am I supposed t-"

"We oughta ditch the truck."

"Why bother? We're only like, an hour out of TO. We'll scrap it there."

"Jesus, Jay, you're such a crackbaby."

"Whore."

"Prick."

"Demon-wench."

"Ass-monger."

"Skankbitch."

"Bastard."

"Succubus!"

Alex blinked. "S… Succubus?"

"Uh…"

She snorted and began to laugh unabashedly. "My, my, Jay… didn't _we_ learn some big words in that motel dictionary?"

"Shut up."

"You're still an ass-monger."

"And you're still a succubus."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You could tell how close you were to Toronto by the state of the road. No government funds went anywhere near the city. Not for civil reasons, anyway. The conditions of the streets faded gradually, potholes increasing in size and number. Dented stop signs, broken traffic lights, weeds sprouting up through cracked concrete. There was a stretch of land roughly three miles in diameter circling the city. Almost a moat. No housing, stores, factories, or warehouses were left inhabited. A ring of abandonment. Patrolled by a few sporadic branches of Toronto gangs, stray animals, and packs of rats. Creatively titled De Grassi's Halo - named for the only remaining street sign that hung lonely and discouraged from a single erect post at the most southerly entrance to the city.

As they passed by the post and Alex's eyes raked over the familiar faded wording and dust-colored background she was surprised at the lack of emotion she felt. Maybe it was the almost-certain death awaiting them. Maybe it was repressed fear and guilt and God-only-knew that had built up since she left the city. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't got very much sleep and even with the goddamn radio broken Jay was still humming country songs.

They drove on for several minutes in utter silence. Jay had stopped humming. The only noises was the hiccupping growl of the truck's engine and the dull, rapidfire sound of gravel and crumbling asphalt under worn tires. Alex amused herself by picking at the crumbing vinyl of the dashboard and stared straight out the window at the miles of… nothing.

De Grassi's Halo: nothing, after nothing, after nothing.

The buildings were falling apart, some windows boarded up, some hadn't been bothered with. Shattered glass and faded spray paint. Bricks smashed to sand on colorless concrete. Occasional tufts of weeds or the barley-there movements of small animals in the dark spaces between buildings were the only signs of life anywhere in the Halo.

A sudden hail of gunfire shattered the carefully constructed silence that engulfed the ghost town. Jay slammed the break pedal into the metal of the floor with such sudden ferocity that the vehicle lurched forward sickly and the back tires screeched. Loose gravel and chunks of pavement were propelled in all directions by slick tires trying desperately to find purchase on the almost sand-like surface of the streets. Jay reached under the chair, grabbed his Glock 22 and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He made sure the safety was on. Didn't want to blast off his dangly bits. Well, not _bits_. "Bits" implied they were small and Jay-

"Yo, assface."

Jay looked up at Alex. Her black hoody hid the eggshell bandage wrapped around her bicep. She slipped the hood up over her face tapped her cheek bone and made the shape of a gun with her fingers. She pointed them at him and mimed shooting. Jay nodded.

They emerged from every dark corner and empty building. A sea of nobodies and felons. Gun-toting, wild-eyed, bloodthirsty children. The blue and yellow shields stitched onto their sleeves told Jay and Alex everything they needed to know. Hatzilakos men. Alex sighed, half-relieved. Could've been worse. Could've been Del Rossi's Lakehurst Boys. Even Jay's shoulders dipped slightly.

But the relief didn't last long. Shit like that could get you killed and neither of them were ready for that just now. Jay reached for the door handle but a stern shout from the kid that looked in charge stopped him.

"Hey! Stay the fuck in the car and put yer goddamned hands up!"

Jay smirked. Oh, Irony…

"Okay, man. Be cool," Jay was glad his voice came out as level as it did. His heart was pounding in his chest. First impulse said to trick the dumb fuckers because he _knew_ he could. Trick them and blow their idiot-fuck brains out. He and Alex could take them together. It's how they did everything. They could-

No. Killing a troop of Hatzilakos employed punks wouldn't be the best way to roll back into town. Especially when Toby advised they keep a "low profile." So, Jay sat patiently and forced himself not to take advantage of every stupid mistake the boy made.

He observed the troop. They were all kids. Really young. Ages maybe… twelve to nineteen. The kid leading them looked about seventeen. Thin, almost to the point of emaciation. Ringed eyes, dirty mop of reddish curls spilling down around his gaunt features. A small, greasy goatee clung limply to his chin. There was a scar, roughly two centimeters across over his right brow. From the scabs on his lips and neck Jay guessed he was on _something. _It showed in the nervous way he walked, subtle swinging of arms, the way his finger twitched over the trigger of the nondescript handgun that he kept in a too-tight clutch in front of him. Dirty plaid overshirt, a thin cotton tee riddled with holes underneath, baggy hand-me-down jeans with ripped cuffs and grease stains that fell over his frayed sneakers.

He looked almost exactly the same as all the other boys. All thin limbs and tough talk. But Jay could see the mild fear in the boy's eyes. Maybe he recognized them…?

"I said I wanna see your fucking _hands_!"

"Okay, Okay, man," Jay lifted his hands, palms out, and spread his fingers. "I'm cool, dude. You're the boss."

Red looked slightly placated.

"What the fuck are you doing here? This is Hatzilakos turf."

He gave a wry, tight smile, "I know that."

"Then what the fuck a-"

"I'm trying to get to TO."

Red paused, frowning. "Not just everybody gets in, you know."

"I know."

His brows furrowed, "Are you…? You're with Del Rossi!"

At the sound of the powerful name all the otherwise bored looking boys snapped to attention. They leveled their guns at the truck. Jay saw Alex out of the corner of his eyes: a picture of relaxation. He sighed and shook his head.

"We're no-"

"Like hell you're-"

"We're not," Jay looked back at Alex surprised. She rarely engaged in these exchanges. She claimed them a waste of her breath. "Look, you know we're not. If we were rolling with Del Rossi you'd know it. Is this about the fee? You don't think we'd try to get in without paying the toll, now, did you?"

Red's brows furrowed again: confused. "Fee…" he had no clue what they were talking about. Which was all well and good because it was something Alex had pulled out of her ass at the last moment. "Yeah, the fee."

Alex nodded, "Yeah. C'mere."

He approached her side of the car cautiously. Alex smiled flirtatiously and pulled down her hood when he was just outside her window. He gulped and rand his gaze up and down what he could see of her. "We'll go over there," she motioned to an empty alley with a quick jerk of her head, "and I'll pay you your… fee."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, uh, pay. Yes."

Alex smirked. Jay blinked confusedly. The last time a guy came on to her, Alex's exact words were "I don't drive stick anymore, ass," before she smashed a mostly-empty beer bottle over his head. That had been a month ago. Alex slipped out the door and caught Jay's eye. She winked. He raised his eyebrows. She blew him a kiss.

She let the overeager boy lead her by the hand into the alley.

There was no noise except a few random snickers from the various boys collected in a semi-circle around the pickup. Suddenly there was a yelp and the boy came limping out of the alley. One hand cupped his crotch, the other he threw backwards, middle finger raised. His gun was tucked into his pants. Alex followed grinning.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

The other boys started laughing but stopped after he fired a few shots in their direction. "I said let's fucking _go!"_

He disappeared into the shadows once again the reluctant group of boys trailing after him.

Alex slid back into her seat and drew the hood around her face once again.

Silence.

"What did you _do_?"

Alex's only reply was a grin he couldn't see.

* * *

**End Notes:** Thanks for reading. Please review. 

_-Orange_


	12. First Psychotic Break Wins

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title:** "First Psychotic Break Wins"

**Tunes:** "_Alexisonfire _"A Dagger Through the Heart of St. Angeles**",** _The Birthday Massacre_ "Video Kid", _eightfourseven_ "Aura Division", _Fenix TX_ "Something Bad Is Gonna Happen"

**People:** _redraisin gets this one. Also, love to dr.evil99 and Dr. Sex Walrus for the help. They make my heart smile._

**Author's Note:** Forgot to mention. That Snake's associate in ch10 "Perino" would be the creepy-ass Teacher that was all weird on Danny and Derek. I looked up his name. Thank you, wikipedia.

Quick note to any _Sepia_ readers out there - I think I've made my decision. It seems that my month-long-no-warning-absence has lost me a bunch of readers. Such is to be expected. But, I don't think I really have it in me to turbo-write'n'post like I did in the beginning. So, as of now it's looking like the next chapter will be my last. I dunno, it's weird, but unless something really changes my mind that's how it's gonna be. Hope you guys like this chapter. Short, I know, but the next one should be longer..

* * *

"You ready?" 

Alex exhaled loudly, closing her eyes. She bounced up and down slightly, shook out her hands, and rolled her neck around. Jay winced when it cracked.

"Yeah."

Jay grinned, lit his cigarette, shoved his hands into his pockets. "Let's do this."

She stepped in front of him and pushed the door open with an extended arm. The familiar, high-pitched ring of the bell that hung on the doorframe rang throughout the establishment.

A pretty but tired looking girl manned the front counter, "Hello, and welcome to _Spirit's_; Toronto's premier Courtesan Establishment and Hotel. Standard rates for an empty bed are fifty dollars a night, if you want company starting prices are eighty dollars an hour for-"

A cough from behind the girl and the click of high heels on tile interrupted the girl, "I don't think they're here for that, Chante." Hazel's voice was halfway between amusement and dismay. She noticed Jay leering at her, "Well… Alex isn't," she followed Alex's gaze towards the back room, noticed the impatient tapping of her foot. Hazel sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wait, I take all of that back."

"Hey, Hazy," Jay's smile was sinister, his voice almost a growl.

Her reply was folding her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

"Where's Paige?" Alex was getting better at this. She almost sounded casual this time.

Hazel shifted, "She's with a customer."

Jay took a break from ogling long enough to place a hand on Alex's shoulder when he noticed her tense beside him. Alex's jaw clenched tightly and exhaled heavily through her nose. She reached into Jay's front pocket, ignoring his decidedly unmanly shriek and extracted his pack of cigarettes. The pack had long been empty of the particular brand it advertised; Jay had taken up the much cheaper habit of rolling his own. She lit it silently tossed the pack back at him and ran a hand through her tussled hair.

"Okay," it came out as a sigh. "Okay, we can wait."

Alex sank into a chair and Jay realized that it would be no use arguing with her. She had that 'I'm really determined and I won't change my mind because that would compromise my pride, even if Jay is totally right' look on her face again. With a shrug he slid up close, between Hazel and the other girl. He looped an arm around both of their shoulders and smiled charmingly. "So… ladies. Tell me about those rates again?"

Jay Hogart always made the best out of a bad situation.

* * *

**End Notes:** Soon as I get 8 reviews I'll post again. Then you guys will get some good, old fashioned, Palex-y angst. 

_-Orange_


	13. We Only Regret

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title:** "We Only Regret Having to Reach Our Destination"

**Tunes: **_Hopesfall "_Secondhand Surgery_" and "_Bird Flu_", In This Moment "_Beautiful Tragedy_", Brand New "Sowing Season" and "_MixTape_", Alexisonfire "_PulmonaryArchery_", Life of Agony "_Justified_" and "_BrokenValley_", Deftones "_Change (In The House of Flies)_", The Pixies "_Levitate Me_"_

**People: **_Same as before. Only this time I remembered to add **Doesn'tMeanMuch** who's writing the most amazing Jay/Alex fic out there. The characterization is just... dead-fucking-on, y'know? I think it's safe to say that **"Trying"** is the only Jalex fic I enjoy. Amazing talent. Go read, and leave a few reviews. You will totally _not _be disappointed._

**Author's Note: **Nothing much to say. Read and enjoy.

* * *

Her hands shook, just slightly, as she fixed her hair in the mirror. Behind her, Spinner coughed and zipped his jeans up. She felt dizzy and a little nauseas. A thick, hot sheet of guilt wrapped around her stomach. Spinner's soft grunt as he struggled with his clothes brought none of the usual comfort. She placed her hands flat on the dresser and stared at them. There was a small, pinprick beauty mark on her right ring finger. The nail of her left thumb was chipped just slightly. Oh, that wouldn't do. Not at all. How could she be expected to run a business if she couldn't take care of her own hands? And she really should moisturize more often. Her knuckles looked a little dry. 

Spinner cleared his throat again behind her. She jumped at the sudden noise. She spun quickly to meet him and found he was so close that if she puffed her chest out it would brush his.

She measured her breathing to maintain its shallowness.

"Uh… here," he tried to shove a few crumpled bills at her. She stared dumbly at his big, clumsy hands. Thick, rough fingers. Hard calloused palms. Chipped, dirty nails. An open, crusty sore between two of his knuckles. She stared as they trembled slightly. She remembered where those hands had been. She remembered what they had done. Who they had betrayed. She remembered the tears they had dried. She remembered how they felt.

Paige felt sick. Disgusted with herself. She looked into his muddy brown eyes. She shivered when she found nothing at all familiar or comforting. Nothing to identify with. They were pleading. She felt…

Paige felt cold.

She felt dead.

She slapped on a plastic smile and pushed his hand away. "No, hon. It's… on the house."

His eyes were dark. Spinner frowned, shaking his head, "But, Paige-"

"Spinner," her voice lacked the fake playful tone from before. It sounded tired and sad. "No. Just… no."

His brows furrowed but he shut his mouth and made a fist around the money. He shoved it deep into his pocket and stepped back. She reached out, took his hand, and began to lead him out of the room.

They walked in silence down the familiar hallways, eyes downcast. Paige still held his hand, searching for some semblance of comfort in the small act. She found little.

"Well," she murmured as she pushed open the door to the lobby. "Don't be a stran-"

The words died in her throat. Her eyes widened. Mouth dropped open. The air left her lungs and there was feeling similar to being punched in the sternum that seized her entirely.

"Alex?"

She dropped Spinner's hand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a sensation akin to jumping into the ocean late at night; drunk and stupid and almost innocent in your own ignorance.

There was shock. The kind that made every muscle clench painfully and lock impossibly still. Then the merciless cold took over. Warm breath made a desperate leap from the lungs. The freezing temperatures turned blood to ice and bones to brittle, frozen wood.

It was a silent process, though. Utterly internal. Alex felt as if she was outside of herself, watching from someplace far away. Look at the girl on the screen. If her eyes were open you might be able to watch her heart being crushed by her imploding ribcage. What fun. What entertainment.

Alex opened her eyes. Paige was kind of pale, there was an odd look on her face. Her lips opened and closed rapidly, eyes wide, hands flitting about like dying birds. She was speaking. Alex registered no sound. Her gaze drifted to Spinner. He seemed to have sunk into his over-sized coat. His hair was thick and matted. He looked dirty. There was a large, purple bruise that took up most of his cheek. He kept his eyes on the ground, arms hanging limply at his sides. His large, clumsy hands clenched and unclenched around the air.

Memories and reactions pregnant with emotion clawed their way up her throat. She could practically taste the blood on their fingernails. Thought swam in desperate circles in her skull. She didn't try to make sense of them.

Alex clenched her teeth and swallowed back everything. They sat heavy and rancid in her stomach. It was like eating a lead cube. Concentrating on breathing she forced a casual expression on her face. Flesh was weak. She would be plastic.

Bitterly, she wondered if Paige would be proud.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well," Jay mumbled, "this is awkward."

It never ceased to amaze him how easily he could piss off a room full of people.

Hazel watched nervously from the corner. Spinner still refused to make eye contact with anyone. Paige's expression was reminiscent of what a trout looked like when it was pulled from the water. Alex appeared to have attempted swallowing a grapefruit whole.

Spinner cleared his throat, "I should… I should go."

"Yeah, no shit," Jay muttered, "Glad to see all the booze hasn't damaged your brilliant mind, Gavin."

Spinner looked up sharply. His brows furrowed but he remained silent. Jay spared a glance at Alex from the corner of his eye. She didn't appear as amused as he hoped she would be. In fact, she looked downright nervous. Doing that thing where she gnawed on her bottom lip, her right hand was picking at the nails on her left hand, until she dropped them to her sides, hesitated, and ran them through her hair.

Spinner shuffled out of the room. The bright _tink_ of the bell seemed painfully out of place. Jay stopped himself from laughing at the sheer strangeness of it. It seemed that in their current situation bursting into random fits of giggles would be frowned upon.

"Alex… it-it's not what-"

"Whatever, Paige," Alex shrugged and bit down hard enough on her lip to make Jay wince. Her hands clenched and unclenched methodically. Her breaths were so even that he knew she must have been counting them. He wanted nothing more than to race outside and kick the Furby in his stupid, asshole face until Alex stopped looking so hurt. "It's cool."

_No. No it's not, Alex. You know that. You_ know_. Don't-_

"Lexi, please."

"_Paige_," she had never sounded so desperate.

Jay knew what was coming and he was _not_ about to stick around to watch Alex's heart get stomped into the cheap carpet by laboriously imported designer heels.

"It's fine. Can we jus-"

"Well, fuck this," he said it just a bit louder than he intended. Jay spun on his heel, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out the door.

He didn't need this shit.

* * *

**End Notes:** Review. 

_-Orange_


	14. In Fading Fearless Nights

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title:** "In Fading Fearless Nights..."

**Tunes:** _Alexisonfire _"Adelleda**"** "Rough Hands", _Hopesfall _"Cubiz Zirconias Are Forever" "I Can Do This On An Island" "Secondhand Surgery", the song "Paisley" (track 13; Magnetic North; Trustkill, 2007) was listened to on repeat the entire time I wrote the Paige/Alex scene. The chapter title, however is taken from the song "Magnetic North" of the same album.

**People:** _I've done it again. That thing where I forget who this chapter was supposed to go out to. So, if you're reading this and getting pissed then... it's for you!_

**Author's Note:** Can't think of anything to say. Other than Dr. Sex Walrus has updated the _killer_ (pun!) _Blood Red Summer_ and you guys should totally read and review it. Seriously, ditch this stuff in favor of the Battle Royale/Degrassi Crossover-y goodness! Even if you have no clue what a Battle Royale is, that doesn't matter. It's well-written and Palex-undertoned enough for you to overlook that.

* * *

"Ellie, baby, you know I love you…" 

"Jesse," her eyes burned, she ran the heel of her palm quickly across them; remembering too late that it would smear her makeup. "No. No, you don't. You don't love me, becau-"

"You _can't_ tell me what I feel, Ellie," his hand on her shoulder began to squeeze harder than her spectrum of comfort. She flinched briefly but was otherwise undeterred.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"I don't _want_ you to do this anymore!"

"Then _why_ do you make me?" her voice broke on the last two syllables. She spun away from him, hot tears searing her cheeks. The scars on her arms itched and she wanted nothing more than to be someplace far, far away.

His hands flexed wildly at his sides; clutching handfuls of the fabric of his pants. He took a step closer. She took one back.

"Ellie, I swear to _God_-"

"Aw, hey now, Stefanodick."

Jesse's head snapped around so fast his neck cracked. Ellie winced at the sound.

Jay smirked, pointedly ignoring Jesse's livid glare. "I know this kind of shit gets you really wet, but I'm just not feelin' it."

Jesse's face turned a furious red. He opened his mouth to speak but Jay cut him off.

"Now, don't get that thong of yours all twisted," he raised his right hand high, a small wad of bills resting casually between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm here for a good time."

He gestured to Ellie, grinning salaciously when Jesse's jaw clenched tightly.

"Jay…" his voice was a failed attempt at toneless. The warning edge was too prominent.

"Here," Jay tossed the wad at him with an air of dismissal. He strode over to Ellie and gently slung his arm around her waist. "I'll be holding on to her for a few days," he announced to Jesse.

He leaned down and whispered into Ellie's ear, "Is there anything you need to take?"

His face oozed smarmy ostentation but his voice was rich with concern. Ellie shook her head.

Without looking back they both walked out of the building. Jay made sure to slam the door behind them.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Her head hurt, her limbs were sore, she was tired and she needed a drink.

Alex ran a hand over her eyelids and rubbed her temples. She stared at the ceiling fan, tried to get lost in its relentless movement. Around and around and around. She frowned, feeling no less tired or frustrated. Paige shifted next to her, the movement causing the sheets Alex had kicked off only moments before to ruffle at her ankles.

The dark haired woman sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The restless feeling had yet to fade and Alex decided at the very least a cigarette would quell her nerves. She sat silently for a moment, listening to the perpetual hum of the fan, the distant sounds of the City, Paige's quiet breathing. She felt soft fingertips brush along her back, trace her spine from between her shoulder blades all the way down.

For a moment she wanted to forget everything that was keeping her awake and fall back into Paige's arms. To hold her, and kiss her, and do all the sorts of things she'd dreamt about for months.

The gentle hand retreated. "What are you doing?" Paige's murmur could have passed as sleepy if Alex didn't know her better. The blonde was just as wide awake as herself.

Alex shrugged and stood. She found her hastily discarded pants in a crumpled heap by the dresser and kneeled down; fishing through the pockets but came up empty. Paige cleared her throat demurely, "My, uh, top drawer on the left."

Alex reached across the length of the dresser and after a few moments of fumbling withdrew a cigarette. She felt Paige's eyes on her the entire time. Several seconds later found her taking her first deep drag of the evening. She looked up slowly, saw the girl on the bed surveying her.

Surveying. Not watching her, not gazing at her. Surveying; observing. As if Alex were some sort of spectacle. A wounded animal. Paige was trying to gauge her next move.

Alex ground her teeth together momentarily, trying to will her thoughts away. When that didn't work she sighed.

Gesturing to the pack she grunted, "You…?"

Paige seemed to understand and nodded.

Alex shoved the lighter into the pack, tossed it, and watched as the paper rectangle soared through the air and into pale, waiting hands. Paige extracted one, lit it, and slipped it into her mouth. It dangled from the corner of her lips as she inhaled. When she exhaled she took the cigarette between two fingers, lowered it from her mouth and blew out slowly. The unrelenting dignity and grace that was exuded by Paige even in the most mundane tasks awed Alex. She felt, at times, that she could watch the blonde for the rest of her life and be content in merely basking in her presence.

At other times, times like these, it made her feel like she was way too deep in something she knew nothing about.

Paige's cloudy eyes shifted to Alex and got clearer. In this light they appeared more green than blue. She sat up, the blanket falling away from her chest and even though it was late at night and the curtains were pulled mostly shut a neon sign from the medical surplus store on the corner illuminated her features. Creamy white skin cast conflicting shades of blues and reds from the ever-glowing RX sign some twenty feet away. The shadows cast by the curves of her body; looking most ominous as large, black streaks beneath her eyes, stretching across her cheeks.

Alex's gaze lingered on Paige's exposed breasts and the blonde followed her line of sight before drawing the sheet up to her chin self consciously.

Alex blinked heavily and ran a hand over her face once more before ash from her cigarette fell onto her bare skin and she was brought back to reality. She unfolded herself and joined Paige on the bed once more; shoulders hunched, facing away, hands clutching the bedclothes desperately. She counted her breathing.

"Alex," her voice was soft but cut through the silence like shattering glass. "Alex, what happened… with Spin it-"

"Can we just… _not_ right now?" Alex swallowed thickly. Her voice was too shaky and it made her nervous. "Please?"

She heard Paige draw a quivering breath and the mattress dipped behind her. She felt a hand brush her back once more, hovering there as if unsure before two arms slipped around her waist. Paige's breasts pressed into her back, the blonde's cheek resting on Alex's shoulder while her fingers linked together over Alex's navel.

"It wasn't-"

"Just… _stop, _okay?" Alex bolted up and off the bed. She didn't dare look back to see Paige's sad expression. "It's cool, alright? It's… whatever. Business. I get it."

She stepped into her pants and slid them up her body hurriedly, forgoing underwear completely. It took her a few times to get the button but once she did she was darting around the room searching for her shirt. She found it slung over a chair and noted with relief the black bra resting on the floor a few feet away. She felt flushed and feverish as she attempted to dress herself; racing against some great Unknown and pretending she didn't know Paige was staring at her.

"I just remembered. I have a… thing," it was lame, even to her, but she knew that Paige was in no condition to call her on her bullshit tonight and she _needed_ to get out of there. "I was supposed to head over to Sean's and get the rundown."

By this time she had managed to clothe herself and was shrugging her jacket on. She looked over at Paige completely aware of the girl's silence throughout the majority of the exchange. Against her better judgment she swung back over to the bed and leaned in with the intent to give the blonde at least a peck on the lips. Something in her mind jerked and she hesitated a split second from Paige's mouth. And then Alex's lips were pressed chastely to a warm temple.

She walked out of the room with her head bowed to the floor and her eyes squeezed almost all the way shut to keep from looking back.

* * *

**End Notes:** Well, there's your chapter. Now it's time for your end of the deal. 10 reviews, in small bills, unmarked. You know where to leave them. We'll talk again once I get everything. 

_-Orange_


	15. It's Easy To Cheapen An Event

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title: **"It's Easy to Cheapen an Event by Pretending it Happened" - but I usually just call it "The Bar Scene"

**Tunes: **_LaunchCast by yahoo has a pretty good Blues radio station, actually. I listened to it while writing any and all scenes taking place in the bar. Some highlights: Lucky Peterson "_She Spread Her Wings and Flew Away"_ Lightnin' Hopkins_ "I've Been Buked and Scorned"_ Solomon Burke "_SoulSearchin'_" Elmore James "_Dust My Broom_" Ma Rainey "_Yonder Come the Blues_", Little Charlie & the Nightcats_ "So Good" _and _"Quittin' Time"

**People: **_Doctor Evil (**dr.evil99**). He helped me tremendously with the follow-up work. Fantastic guy. He gave me Jay's "crock of shit" line. Yeah, that was _all_ him. Also, **piseces iscariot** for being so fucking great. Seriously, that was one of the biggest confidence boosters I've ever gotten. And I've had lots, because I know lots of great people. Aw, I'm turnin' to mush... Read on, that'll fix it._

**Author's Note: **Well, not much to say. Read it, lemme know what you think. Lots of language, but you should expect that by now. Well, at least you're aware.

* * *

It was the perfect cliché. The moment Jay swept the door of _Cameron's_ open with his outstretched arm he was smacked with a sudden nostalgia. The sound of low conversation punctuated by the odd clinking glass. The scrape of pool-cues on the linoleum floor, the lonely television hung in a deserted corner of the room screen filled with snow. The dusty jukebox on the far corner of the room, a few feet from the dart board was grumbling out something muddy and vaguely bluesy. 

The thick smell of liquor, sweat, and smoke caused Ellie to cough slightly, at his side. Jay breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment to allow himself to adjust. When he opened them again his vision had already adjusted to the dim lighting of the bar. He bit his lip and smirked openly, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her towards him until their hips brushed.

He saw Sean leaning over the bar, talking to some random drunk whose head was starting to droop.

Jay lead Ellie slowly to the back right corner of the bar; the corner that no one ever sat in unless Sean had given them the okay. Winking at the redhead Jay slammed his fist down onto the counter three times in quick succession. In his best petulant rasp, "Hey! You fuckin' slob what'll it take to get some service!"

He saw Sean's shoulders jerk in response and the darkhaired man whirled around, mouth agape, eyes screaming murder. "I'm gonna fuckin-"

He stopped abruptly, brows knitting together. His mouth shut with a _click_. Jay grinned.

Sean's slow smile was enough to make him feel more at home in Toronto than he had all day.

"Jay! You slimy son of a bitch!" his voice was warm and full, "God, you prick, you had me going!"

Jay squinted, "Hey, hang on a sec, Seany. I'm… I'm trying to figure out what the fuck died on you chin."

Sean grimaced and reached a hand up to absently stroke the tuft of hair on his chin. "What? You jealous, Hogart?"

Jay scoffed, "The razor is your _friend_, Cameron."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellie flinch slightly.

"You think it looks good, though, right Ellie?" Sean was starting to look kind of desperate.

Ellie smiled kindly at him, "Sure, Sean… rugged."

He beamed at her. Jay felt something twist in his gut. "Looks like someone took a shit on your face, Sean." He was surprised at the venom in his voice. Sean's brows furrowed, Ellie looked surprised. Jay felt like a dick. _Why did I do that…_? He frowned, rolling his shoulders in theirs sockets, and slapped a few bills on the table. "What kind of bartender are you? Get us some drinks, you douche, or I'll be hop across this pleasantly shiny counter and kick your ass."

Sean shook his head but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he turned, grabbing a few glasses off a shelf behind him, "The usual?"

Jay smirked, "Smart boy."

Ellie looked vaguely amused. Sean returned with their drinks and leaned back against the bar. "When'd you get in, man?"

"Just today," Jay mumbled around his glass. "Heard things have been kinda quiet down here."

Sean shrugged, "Quiet is a bit of an exageration. But nothing spectacular has happened, I guess… Your buddy Towerz damn near got the back of his skull knocked in. Dean and some of his boys caught him on his way from Rick's and he got to know the business end of some steel piping."

Jay frowned, "How the Hell did he make it out alive, then?"

Sean shifted glancing around the bar, his gaze lingering on a pack of middle aged men starting to argue by the pool tables, "Lakehurst showed up," he murmured distractedly.

Jay raised his eyebrows, "Why, Trey Hightower… you lucky, lucky bastard." He sipped his drink, "Big Papa Del Rossi's not too happy, I guess."

Sean shook his head, eyes still on the slowly escalating argument, "Nope… TO's a powder keg and it's starting to look like you guys got back just in time to - Hey! Hey! Break it up!" he shouted at two grappling men. Sean looked distressed, "Sorry, man."

He hopped over the bar and began to jog towards them. Jay raised his eyebrows and took another drink.

Ellie frowned, "Well?"

Jay shot her a look, "Well… what?"

"Aren't you going to do something?"

Jay shrugged, "Sean's a big boy. These guys respect him. He can handle things in his own bar. And, 'sides, if things started to get too hot I'd be over there in a minute. You know that."

Jay finished his drink and frowned at the bottom of the glass. He stood and walked behind the bar leaning down and looking inside various cabinets. Ellie cleared her throat, "Uh… Jay?"

"Yeah?" his head was currently stuffed inside a dark cupboard and sounded muffled. "What's up?"

"Should you be… doing that?"

Jay shrugged, thrusting an arm inside and pulling it back out; a bottle of tequila clenched in his fist. "Sean won't care."

Looking back over his shoulder he noticed Ellie's skeptical expression. Ah, well.

He grabbed a shot glass and resumed his place at the bar. He poured a shot and downed it without fanfare.

Noticing Ellie's look of disgust he raised his eyebrows.

She scrunched her nose at him, "No lime? Nothing?"

Jay smirked, barking out half a laugh. "You kiddin', babe? I'm _Jay Hogart_ I was doing straight tequila since before you were born."

Ellie looked amused, "You would've been one and a half." She mirrored his smirk and snickered a little, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

He shook his head, looking to the side and smiling. Jay bumped her shoulder with his but otherwise didn't reply.

They sat in silence for long minutes; Ellie quietly nursing her beer while Jay pounded back shot after shot of hard alcohol.

The music was good. Classic blues. Nice rhythm. Jay found himself swaying to it slightly. Sean had popped back in, briefly after breaking up the fight. He'd chastised Jay for taking the bottle but after the latter slapped some more money down on the table Sean had shut up and went to tend to other patrons.

When Jay went to pour his fifth, sixth shot precious amber liquid sloshed around the shot glass. Coating his fingers and pooling on the wooden counter top. Jay ditched the glass and simply tipped the bottle back, taking a few long swallows straight from the container.

He pulled it from his lips, sputtering. "Ah," his eyes burned, and he kept coughing, "God dammit…"

Ellie put her hand on his back. "Whoa, easy, Jay…"

The soothing circles made him want to turn and kiss her. Ellie was soft in ways most women weren't. Her skin was warm, and smooth, and she always smelt so good…

The door to the bar swung open and Jay looked over.

Spinner.

Jay growled. "Oh, _hell_ no. No, no, no. Not in this bar. Not tonight…"

Ellie frowned. "What're you talking about?"

Jay ignored her pushing away from the bar quickly. His foot caught briefly on the stool and he stumbled just slightly. He watched as Spinner sat down at the other end of the bar. Jay clenched his fists at his sides.

He strode purposefully across the room. Ellie's hand landed on his shoulder but he pulled away from her forcefully.

Spinner must have heard him coming because he looked up just before Jay reached him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face covered in rough patches of stubble. He looked more haggard than Jay could ever remember but that didn't matter at the moment.

Jay put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around. "Well," he growled, closing his fist around the dangling crucifix around Spinner's neck, "guess that whole 'finding Christ' bit was a crock of shit, then, wasn't it?"

Spinner looked cowed, "Jay… man, I don't want-"

"News flash, _honey bee_," he sneered releasing his grip on the man with enough force to send him back into the bar, "I don't _give a shit_ what you want."

Spinner looked down.

"Look at you… you're so fucking miserable, aren't you, Gavin? So, I guess you figure 'why not spread it around a bit', huh? Well, guess what you shit. You fucked with the wrong girl."

"Jay-"

"You _fucked_ Paige. You. Fucked. Paige. You, Gavin "Spinner" Mason: born again Christian and loser-extraordinaire fucked my best friend's girlfriend. Do you have to ruin _everything _you touch?"

Spinner looked as if he wanted to implode on himself. His eyes were watery and he couldn't hold Jay's gaze. But his jaw was set and when he spoke it was with conviction, "Jay… get. your hands. off me."

"You're right," Jay shoved him back into the bar again. He wiped his hands on his pants. "Don't know what I might catch… Bottle hasn't been good to you, has it?"

Ellie looked nervous, "Jay…"

In the corner of his vision he saw Sean approaching warily.

Spinner moved to stand but Jay shoved him back down. Spinner's head snapped up and his eyes got darker, "Jay. Don't fucking _touch_ me."

"Or what, Spinner? Or-fucking-what?"

His shoulders were shaking. Deliberately he stood up. Jay sneered but Spinner's face stayed firmly furious.

"Get out of my face, Jay."

"Why? You planning on leaving in the middle of our chat?"

"I don't have to listen to this."

"You're nothing, Spin. You're shit. You hurt _everyone._ God, everyone _knows_ about what happened with Jimmy. And here, me and Alex didn't fucking drop you like the rest of them did. But we should have. We should have because you did the same to us you _fucking_, backstabbing, piece of shit, bast-"

Spinner's fist collided with Jay's jaw with a sickening crack.

Everything from that point was a vague painful blur.

By the time Sean pulled him back his lip was split and bleeding and his head felt like someone had taken a crowbar the side of his face. Spinner's nose was bleeding, bright crimson trails running all down his shirt, dripping from his chin. His eye was shut and things were already looking like they were starting to bruise.

Two men he'd never seen before were gripping Spinner by the arms but it seemed unnecessary. He was breathing heavily but his limbs were slack.

Jay lurched forward, snarling, "Jesus! That the best you can do? Fuck, Mason, you hit li-"

"Hey! _Hey!_" Sean threw his weight back to keep Jay restrained. His grip tightened and Jay felt sharp pain race up from his shoulders. He grimaced but stayed mostly silent. Sean pulled Jay closer and waited until the other man's breathing began to even out to loosen his grip.

"Spinner," he panted, "I think you better get out of here."

The nameless men released him. Spinner nodded tiredly, reaching up and touching his nose gingerly. He winced. "S-sorry, man. I-"

"Just…" Sean looked tired. "Just go, Spin."

As soon as he was out of the room Sean dropped Jay. He stumbled but managed to regain his balance. "Fuckin' pussy…"

"Jay," Sean's voice was stern. "Jay, get the fuck out of here."

"Sean-"

"No," he put a hand over his face. "Look, man, I can't take care of you tonight. You're drunk, and pissed, and I can't watch your ass. You started a fight in my bar and you know what I do when people start fights in my bar."

"I-"

He shook his head, "Ellie… get him outta here."

She nodded, placed a tentative hand on Jay's arm, "C'mon, Jay… let's go."

"Ellie-"

"_Please_."

He sighed. "Okay… fuck it. Okay."

They left quietly after Jay got some tissue to stuff over his lip.

* * *

**End Notes: **I write. You read. You review. And repeat. That's how this works, see? 

_-Orange_


	16. The World Still Looks Pretty Unredeemed

_Disclaimer: _**See previous chapters.**

**Title:** "The World Still Looks Pretty Unredeemed to Me"

**Tunes:** FIRST SCENE: same as last chapter, but with the major addition of "The Things That I Used to Do" by Guitar Slim.

SECOND SCENE: _Alexisonfire _"Adelleda**",** _City and Colour "_Sam Malone_"_ "When She",_ and_ _Scarling._ "Can't (Halloween Valentine)"

**People:** _Doc Evil. He pretty much held my hand for the entire scene at the end. Without him I wouldn't get shit done. Also, Dr. Sex Walrus. She recently updated the fuckin' awesome_ Blood Red Summer _which you people seriously need to check out._

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know I suck. It's been a month. But, several things have kept me from really sticking to my update-schedule. The major one would be the GIGANTIC block I've been going through. In the past, like, month and a half the most I've really been able to write has been a super angsty South of Nowhere oneshot (plug, plug, plug). As far as the Icarus Complex goes I've only been able to get a few paragraphs for the next chapter out, so... I'll work past it, I guess. The second thing would be personal reasons - some recently experienced angst and generally being busy as hell. Then there's the third. Probably my favorite reason. You see, recently, I've been spending a great deal of my energy on... social activities.

I'll cut the shit.

It's been about two months since I got laid and five since I've dated anyone. I've found a really cute chick to motivate me to try and change these simple facts. And as much as I love you guys, and love writing for you - I love the girlies more (fellas, too. But "boylies" sounds pretty gross...). So, time previously devoted to writing has been spent mackin' on fly honeys. No, I don't really talk like that. But I just really, really wanted an excuse to use the term "mackin' on fly honeys."

Next update probably won't be out anytime soon (probably), so I hope this will hold you guys for a while.

* * *

"Y'know… maybe you should take it easy, Al." 

She lifted her head from her arms and grinned wryly, "If I wanted to 'take it easy', Seany, I wouldn't have demanded you leave the entire bottle."

He tried to smile but it was hard. Sometimes, he hated his job.

Alex sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "D'you think I can crash here, tonight?"

Sean shrugged and surveyed the bar; most of the people had gone home. It was late. The Elvis clock on the wall that swiveled its hips to the second hand read 3:10. Last call had been fifteen minutes ago. There were only five patrons remaining, not including Alex. The old man, Thomas, who came in every night promptly at 8:05 and drank steadily with his head in his hands until Sean announced he was closing up; a group of three people in their early twenties, two boys and one girl, taking up a booth in the corner talking loudly and laughing on occasion; and Gina, the forty-something chick who always grabbed his ass and started every night with a gin and tonic.

Sean cleared his throat, "Okay, guys. You're done. Time to get outta here."

Thomas looked up and started shuffling about, slowly. Gina frowned pensively, "C'mon, baby, the night is still young!"

Sean had learned he was better off acting amused rather than frightened by the petnames she called him. "Not for me, Gin. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. C'mon, let's get it movin'!"

Within five minutes everyone had left fairly peaceably, although Gina had 'accidentally' squeezed his crotch on her way out. He began securing all his locks and going through the ritual known as Lockup. Alex was still sipping steadily at her liquor and looking miserable. Just as he was turning to go clean up the bar he heard the familiar scrape of barstools on linoleum flooring. Alex shuffled to the jukebox.

It was several moments before the music began to play. Alex's inebriated state made the simple task of inserting money and picking a song rather difficult but just as Sean finished wiping down the counter music filled the empty room. Alex dropped back onto her stool and took a long, forlorn pull from the bottle. She sighed, "Guitar Slim," she mumbled, "He… he was a fucking _genius_, man."

Sean listened to the tune, "Kind of a sad number, Alex."

He wasn't stupid, he'd heard enough of Jay's tirade to know what was fucking Alex up so much. But, it wasn't the kind of thing he could be blunt about. Not with Alex. Jay might've gotten away with tactlessness…

"Yeah," she mumbled around the bottle.

"'Bout a girl?"

She scowled, "Isn't it always?"

"What's it called?"

"'The Things That I Used To Do'," she quoted. Shaking her head she took another long swallow, "Man, Guitar Slim… this guy, this guy he had the right idea, ya know?"

Sean nodded seriously.

"It's like… this chick, she treat him like shit, y'know? A-and he won't take it no more. See, she had another guy. And he's like 'no way, I'm not cool with that' and he just , _bam!_ y'know? He just leaves. He leaves her. And that's… that's pretty fucking," she swallows, "that's pretty fucking…"

"Hard?"

She looked up sharply. Her gaze is so intense that he wants to look away but Sean knows that this moment is important because it's the climax of… something. He's still trying to figure that part out.

"Yeah," she exhales heavily. "Yeah, it's pretty fucking hard."

She flicked a peanut off the bar and they both watched it skitter across the floor. Sean sat next to her gingerly, he reached across and pulled the bottle from her surprisingly limp grasp. "Alex," he touched a hand to her shoulder, "what's going on?"

She locked her gaze on the jukebox.

"Alex?"

When she looked up he saw something in her eyes that made her seem as young as she was. Then she blinked and they were cloudy again. "Nothin', Sean."

She swallowed thickly and grabbed the bottle back from him, "Now gimme back my booze."

Sean rubbed his eyes and picked up his rag.

There was nothing he could do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room was the perfect picture of anonymity. Nondescript everything. Dull, sand colored walls, dusty blue comforter. It was kept sparsely decorated. One unremarkable landscape painting over a plastic potted plant. A single queen sized bed, two nightstands, and a small TV. Everything was nailed down. The room meant business.

Jay locked the door behind him and drew the curtains shut. He turned back and saw Ellie standing awkwardly by the entrance to the small adjoining bathroom. He smirked and traced the soft curves of her body with his eyes. She smiled back nervously and stepped forward. He grabbed her shoulders and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted like strawberry lip gloss and beer.

When he pulled away they were both slightly breathless. Jay moved toward the nightstand and opened his wallet, withdrawing a stack of cash and placing it by the alarm clock. Ellie perched on the bed and began to remove her jacket.

Jay turned and watched her as she folded the garment and set it casually on the floor by the foot of the bed. He dropped down in front of her, on his knees. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. He brushed his fingers along her cheek and ran them lightly down her body until they rested on the cool metal of her belt. She pressed her lips into his, tentatively and felt him slide his tongue along hers. She deepened the kiss, digging her fingers into his jacket as he removed her belt and slid his hands up her shirt. She drew in a quick breath when she felt them pass along a small set of scars on her stomach.

His fingers faltered, briefly before continuing upward. He pressed a wet kiss into her neck, moving downwards and sucking softly on her collar bone, mumbling things she couldn't hear against her skin. She exhaled shakily and combed her fingers through his hair.

Jay bit the underside of her jaw gently and slowly pulled Ellie's shirt over her head. The second he opened his eyes he wished he hadn't.

"What the fuck, Ellie?" his voice was shaky and breathless and he hated the fact that it sounded so goddamn pathetic.

She looked like she wanted to disappear. Jay continued to gape openly at the small, methodically placed scars. Some were red and raw looking. Some were little more than raised, white lines. His mouth was dry, his stomach had leapt into his throat and his heart had sunk somewhere next to his kidneys. Jesus, they were _everywhere._ Up and down her arms, across her torso, he saw some peaking up from the waistband of her pants.

"Jesus, Ellie!" He screamed, shooting up and tugging his hair as he paced. "I mean, what the _fuck_? What the fuck _is _this?"

She opened her mouth to speak but all the words died in her throat.

"Did…" he went pale. His hands clenching so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white and his nails pressed angry red half-moons into his palms. His head was swimming. "Did Jesse do this to you?"

Ellie's head shot up, "What?"

"I said," his voice was low, and cold, and deadly, "did Jesse do this to you, Ellie?"

Her heart had stopped beating. It was lodged somewhere in her windpipe. She swallowed it back painfully and spoke, softly. "No."

"Ellie… if he did you can tell me. I swear, I-"

"Jesse didn't do this, Jay."

His brows furrowed, "Then how the _hell_ did-"

He stopped short. Her head bowed and she stared at her lap.

Jay felt cold.

No. No way in Hell.

"Ellie…" he felt bile rising in his throat. "Ellie tell me how these got here."

She was silent.

"Ellie…"

Her shoulders began to quake. He dropped down in front of her again and took her chin between his fingers. When she couldn't look him in the eyes he knew.

He was back on his feet again. "What the Hell are you doing to yourself? Jesus fuck, Ellie!" He didn't know what to do with his hands. He ripped the painting from the wall and threw it into the corner where it collided with the television and clattered loudly to the floor. He saw Ellie flinch. "Fuck!"

He wanted to scream. He wanted to _do _something. He wanted to…

He couldn't look at her anymore. It hurt too much.

"Just… why, El? Just tell me…" his voice cracked. God, this was such bullshit. He _hated _it when he sounded like a fucking pansy. Alex didn't need a fucking pansy. _Ellie_ didn't need a fucking pansy.

"Why the fuck are you… are you _doing _this? Hurting yourself? Fuck! How can you fucking _do_ this to yourself? Jesus! I mean… I mean… Jesus…"

She was shaking too much. Her head was down, but he heard her sniff and saw the white-knuckle grip she had on the bed sheets and knew instantly that she was crying.

"Fuck…" it was whispered and fervent. All the anger left his body. He just felt tired and confused and…

He dropped in front of her once more. Wondering how many fucking times that made this night. He took her hands and attempted desperately to steady his breathing. His own eyes burned and he had to clench his jaw tightly to keep from breaking down. He suddenly felt _way_ too sober.

He couldn't take his eyes off the scars. "Just… just tell me why, Ellie."

She bit her lip and squeezed his hands.

"Please, Ellie… please, I just… I just-"

"It's hard, Jay," the tears in her voice made his insides quiver.

"I know," he whispered. He hauled himself onto the bed and drew her close to him. He kissed the top of her head. "I know."

She turned in his arms and tentatively brushed her lips along his jaw. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I'm sorry, Jay."

He'd barely heard it. But there it was. On the table for him to take or leave. He shook his head, breathing out quietly. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and gently reversed their positions, lowering her onto the bed.

"I know."

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he buried his face in her shoulder again. Swallowing deeply he removed her right arm from his neck and pressed a hesitant kiss on the scar closest to her elbow. She shuddered.

He released her arm gently and closed his eyes as he felt her remove his belt and unzip his jeans. Jay pressed his face back into her shoulder, breathing heavily.

He reached out and turned off the light.

The darkness was a comfort to both of them.

* * *

**End Notes:** Review; it's like crack for my muse. 

_-Orange_


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